Coppice

Overwhelmed with visual information and flooded

over my eyes up into hairlines through follicles

lapping at the connections between sleep and not

lying where I fell and decomposing

amongst last year's hazel nuts left hollow by jays or squirrels

smelling rich and rotten between annual strata of leaves

fallen and lifted, levitating upon the points of bluebell stalks.

First to feel the primrose bloom, growing like an emotion

between my shoulder blades don't move, don't move

all moments pass and this will pass too soon

in a coppice in company with spring.

Force

Notwithstanding the force of love –

knocked down.

Inappropriately tired –

wanting more, nevertheless.

Not without a certain beauty –

certainly embodied by

nonotherthan an assignation

most secretly made.

However, all in all,

together we lie – divided by

truth: I could have sworn

but how can language be bad?

I’m sleeping on your feet –

You can’t keep my eyes open.

Nodding off and on in

accord with our hearts.